The Opelousas courier., 1887-02-05

never cam home till they'd gone; aud
somehow one thing was almost as IN
pleasant as the other, and / couldn't say
why it worried mel only knew it did.
And I used to take the boy and go of
by myself AMI cry. For, of course,
sooner or later, Dennis would marry some
one of those terrible girls; he couldn't
help himself; they wouldn't let him help
himself; it would come about after
awhile as naturally as water runs down
hill.
And then there would be a stepmother
for my boy, and Heaven alone knew what
would become of him. And what would
become of me?
And by this I gave out completely. ]
should have to go away. / should see
Dennis no more. No more of that deal
voice and presence, and CHEEKY way OF
his. And all at once it came over me
in a flash O. horror and shame what was
the matter with me; and then I felt that,
happen what would, I really must go
away.
But / couldn't go and leave the boy;
and there / was. And / grew pale and
could eat nothing, and was stilIer and
%stiller every day. / could as soon have
talked HEIR, W as have smiled.
But one day I had the little fellow
asleep in his morning nap, which he had
not quite outgroWn, although it was get
ting to be short and ftful; and, thinking
that Dennis was there to see, Or knowing
he was, and thinking nothing, I went
out by myself, down the ted by the
railroad cut; for there was an apple tree
there where I gathered the wind-falls,
and | liked, too, to sit on the bank and
see the train dash by in the CT. I had
my apron full of apples, and, as l came
back, / stood lettering a moment or so
on the steep bank, hearing a train COM
ing, and liking all The rush and roar and
rattle that seemed to snat b me oat of
myself, as if it told of a way to some
where, one distant region where my
trouble might beforgotten; and all at
once another sound from that of the a
preaching train caught my ear, a glad,
gay shouting and crying. turned and
looked to right and left, a little confused,
for it was the child's voice. And, |
turning back suddenly. I saw him; and
there. at the foot of the bank,
in the very center of the rlilway track, |
stood the little fellow, who had
crept from his bed and ran after me, and
been begu led down the slope by some
blossoms that he saw there-there, in the
of the track he stood, waving his
little hands and shouting to the coming
train. There was not a half minute, it
seemed, but in less time / was down
there: and was just CRASHING the child
when my foot slipped, and l fell with
him in my arms, and the thunder was in
my ears and the hot breath in my face,
| knew that was the end.
No; it was only the beginning of the
md. When | knew anything more, |
lying on the bank / n Dennis's arms,
or he had come bounding after the boy,
md had snatched us both out of danger
IS the engine, like a wild dragon, whizzed
md roared and thundered by, and he was
me as if he would never let me
70.
And he never has let me go. "oh!n he
;rled, Il found ont in that second what
life would be to me without you, dear;
omething Iconldn't bear a day." And |
My chung to him. too ashamed to let
i'm see my face, too tired and weak to
If it. And SO it is I that am the second
wife, and the boys mother. And I sup
'ose everybody was surprised; but no.
Lody, as / told you, was half as much
urprlsed as L. I~RaeEeadcnt.